“Care to walk me home, monsieur?”, she asked.

I drank a little more than I should; she laughed a little more than she should; and next thing I know, I am in love and she is already late to be on her way home. The party had been one huge mess; everyone was drunk and someone had puked in the sink. A boy and a girl were making out in one shady corner of the pub; and there were kisses flying around.

The music was so loud that she put her face close to mine and said, “I should leave. I am way past my deadline.”

She smelled of vodka, cigarettes and raspberries. Her cologne hung over my shoulder and I felt my heart going crazy. I put my face close to hers and said, “I think I am in love with you.”

She laughed at this but then, she wasn’t laughing anymore. She smiled at me and I looked into her eyes; for a second, I felt, I am talking to someone I’d know for the rest of my life.

“Care to walk me home, monsieur?”, she asked.

“With pleasure, mademoiselle.” And I offered my arm, imitating the most gentlemen-like etiquette I have seen in the movies.

She slid her arm through mine, and off we went. I, jubilant, she, radiant.

We walked for a long time that night. We walked every inch of the city and by the time, she stood in front of her door, the light of dawn was already above us. She pressed my hand before she went inside and I looked at her, cursing myself for being too foolish to not kiss her at her cue. She went inside and I walked back, and sadly, I never saw her again.

I tried reaching her, but she had left the town the next day. I missed her for a long time, and was mad at her too for some time. But, I guess now, we were not meant to be. Yeah, maybe that. Probably we were only to spend one night, the memories of which still are vivid in my mind. Perhaps, it is not love, or is it? Perhaps, she is my rain-in-winter. Only a glimpse of how beautiful life can be, when in love.